


Early Days Yet

by ballpoint_banana



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Banter, Capslock, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Humor, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, TAZ: Amnesty - Freeform, one-sided friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballpoint_banana/pseuds/ballpoint_banana
Summary: “Hey,” Duck said, interrupting the new speech about celestial order the woman had been giving.She sighed testily. “WHAT NOW, DUCK NEWTON?”“You got a name?”





	Early Days Yet

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a whirlwind during the Amnesty mini-arc a couple of months ago, and I thought it was lost to the sands of time after my computer died. But surprise! I was able to recover the file this weekend!!! This got jossed but I'm so happy to have it back I'm posting it anyway.

Duck hadn’t always been called “Duck,” of course. He had a proper name.

According the story his mother used to tell, she’d picked it the day she found out she was pregnant. It was a name pilfered from a branch of her family tree—a dead uncle or cousin or something like that. Then, when her baby boy was born, she'd given him the name dutifully as she held him in her arms for the first time.

But as he grew, it became clear to her that it wasn’t quite right. It was a little too stiff, too lifeless, like an over-starched shirt from someone else’s closet. It didn’t fit her little boy, who held caterpillars delicately in his pudgy little hands, and who preferred making leaf rubbings to playing with the other children, and who stared off into space sometimes thinking about Lord knew what. Her little boy. What an odd duck he was.

Always, it was at this point in his mother’s narration that Duck could practically hear the _ba dum tss_ of drums in the background. Audience laughs. Jazz hands. Curtain falls. End scene. Really, it was only a few shades removed from reality; she’d always ended the story by smiling impishly and saying, “And, well, the rest is history.”

The rest _was_ history. His mother grew fond of it. His father went along with it. Others picked it up, because the Newton family was already so strange, it just made sense, didn't it? A kid called “Duck?” He doubted most people in town knew his real name, even knew he had a real name. Who could blame them? He forgot sometimes, himself.

Duck had been thinking about that story a lot lately. He'd been thinking about it because he was pretty positive that he had heard the words “Duck Newton” more in the last two months or so than he had in the last eighteen years combined.

Since his birthday, the woman’s visits hadn't let up. Just the opposite. She was showing up once, twice, sometimes even three times a week, giving him lectures, forcing cryptic visions into his head, saying his name a thousand times and then some. It was getting to the point where he could barely absorb the meaning of the words anymore. It was just a weird collection of sounds. Duck Newton. Duck Newton. Duck Newton. Duck Newton. Duck Newton.

“ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, DUCK NEWTON?”

He wasn’t.

The two of them were in Duck’s kitchen, seven a.m. on a Tuesday. Duck didn't consider himself to be a morning person on his best days, and it was decidedly too early to be receiving messages from a extra-dimensional ghost. In the nascent daylight streaming in through the window, Duck stared at the food in front of him and, briefly, mourned the quiet breakfast he had been having a few minutes ago.

“I WILL BE CANDID WITH YOU, DUCK NEWTON; YOUR SILENCE DISTURBS ME,” the woman said from her usual place standing over his shoulder.

Duck took a bite of cornflakes. They were already getting soggy.

“YOU DO THIS OFTEN, DUCK NEWTON. YOU ACT AS IF YOU CAN’T HEAR ME AT ALL, WHEN I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT YOU CAN HEAR ME PERFECTLY WELL! IT IS ONE OF YOUR MORE VEXING QUALITIES.”

“Mm,” Duck mumbled around his spoon.

“HERE I AM, SPEAKING TO YOU ABOUT MATTERS THAT ARE LITERALLY OF COSMIC SIGNIFICANCE, AND YOU PAY ME NO HEED. IT IS ACTUALLY QUITE RUDE, DUCK NEWTON.”

When the words “quite rude, Duck Newton” made their way to his brain, a thought crossed Duck’s mind. He set down his glass.

“Hey,” Duck said. “Why do you call me that?”

“EXCUSE ME, DUCK NEWTON?”

After a moment of hesitation, Duck shifted in his seat a little and craned his neck to face her.

“I’m just...wonderin’ why you call me Duck.”

“IS IT NOT YOUR NAME?”

Duck shrugged. “It’s a nickname.”

“IT IS WHAT EVERYONE CALLS YOU. THAT’S ALL A NAME IS, DUCK NEWTON.”

“Hm.” Duck turned back around, stirred his cornflakes. “Yeah. I guess so.”

The woman swept around the table so that she was facing him from the opposite end. “WOULD YOU PREFER THAT I CALL YOU SOMETHING ELSE, DUCK NEWTON?”

“Nah,” Duck said, shaking his head. “I was just...curious.”

In truth, Duck would have “preferred” that she never call him anything ever again, but he doubted that saying this would do a lick of good. So far, none of his protests had worked, nor had any of his attempts to simply will her away, and it wasn’t like he had much else in his arsenal.

The doctor Duck had visited certainly hadn’t been any help. After hearing Duck list his symptoms—sans all the nitty-gritty details about swords with mouths that nobody ever needed to know—he had told Duck that he would probably need to visit some kind of specialist. He’d given Duck the names of a few neurologists and psychiatrists, but all of them were miles from Kepler and well outside the Newtons’ insurance provider network. Besides, even if Duck did somehow manage to successfully visit one of the doctors without his parents finding out...well. There was a teeny, tiny, microscopic part of Duck that worried this woman might not be a hallucination.

Maybe. Possibly.

And if, for argument's sake, she wasn’t a hallucination...if she was real…

Another thought crossed his mind.

Just thinking it felt like a capitulation, like he was losing what little ground he had in the battle for his sanity, but...hell. She was here, wasn’t she? This woman—whatever or whoever she was—seemed to be an unavoidable part of Duck’s life at the moment. Maybe, _possibly_ , he should try figure out what the hell to call her. It wasn’t crazy. It was a practicality. Right?

“Hey,” Duck said again, interrupting the new speech about celestial order the woman had been giving.

She sighed testily. “WHAT NOW, DUCK NEWTON?”

“You got a name?”

The woman paused. Then, even though her featureless face remained as blank as ever, Duck could almost _feel_ her smiling.

“WHY, I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK, DUCK NEWTON!”

Duck didn't say that he thought he never would, either. “Yeah, well.”

“DUCK NEWTON, YOU MAY CALL ME MINERVA.”

“Minerva?”

“YES. MINERVA.”

“Huh.” Duck had been expecting something more...Lovecraftian.

“THANK YOU FOR ASKING, DUCK NEWTON,” Minerva said. “HOW EXCELLENT. I CAN FEEL THE SINEWS OF OUR FRIENDSHIP STRENGTHENING ALREADY.”

“Well.” Duck cleared his throat. “I...I wouldn’t say that.”

“AH HA,” Minerva slowly, as if a thought was crossing _her_ mind. “I THINK I UNDERSTAND. PERHAPS FRIENDSHIP IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU NEED, DUCK NEWTON.”

“Nope.” Duck shook his head. “Nah. Nope.”

“YES! THIS BOND BETWEEN US WILL HELP YOU TO EMBRACE YOUR DESTINY!”

“I don't think—”

“QUICKLY, WE MUST UTILIZE THIS MOMENTUM. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR, DUCK NEWTON?”

After a long, bone-tired moment, Duck sighed.

Well. This was his own damn fault, really. He’d given her an inch. Could he really be surprised that she was trying to take a mile?

“Lavender,” he muttered.

“LAVENDER?” Minerva said incredulously. “THAT IS NOT A COLOR, DUCK NEWTON. IT IS A FLOWER.”

“The...the color is named after the flower.”

“HA HA! OH, I KNOW THAT LAVENDER IS A COLOR, DUCK NEWTON. I WAS JUST MAKING A LITTLE JOKE.”

Duck blinked at her. “Good one.”

“THANK YOU, DUCK NEWTON. YES, LAVENDER IS A VERY BEAUTIFUL COLOR. I AM FOND OF YELLOW, MYSELF.”

“Really?”

“YES, DUCK NEWTON. YELLOW. IT IS COLOR OF DAFFODILS.”

“Hm. I just figured it’d be blue, since…y’know.” Duck gestured vaguely at Minerva. “You, uh...glow blue light and all.”

“I SEE. AN INTERESTING GUESS, DUCK NEWTON. BUT A GUESS PREDICATED ON FALSE ASSUMPTIONS.” She folded her hands in front of her—which, on account of her being a silhouette, made it look like she didn't have arms. It was almost comical. “SUFFICE IT TO SAY THAT THERE IS STILL MUCH YOU DO NOT KNOW ABOUT ME, DUCK NEWTON. BUT IT IS JUST AS WELL. YOU HAVE PLENTY TO KEEP YOURSELF PREOCCUPIED ALREADY, DON’T YOU?”

“Yeah...about that,” Duck said slowly. “As long as we’re…” He clicked his tongue, breathed deeply. “As long as we’re _friends_ now...can I ask you for some favors?”

“AH HA! VERY SNEAKY, DUCK NEWTON,” Minerva said, wagging a finger. “BUTTERING ME UP WITH CASUAL CONVERSATION ABOUT FLOWERS—VERY SNEAKY, INDEED! TELL ME: WHAT ARE YOUR REQUESTS?”

Duck sighed. “Look, if you’re gonna keep doing...whatever it is you’re trying to do, exactly...we gotta lay down a few ground rules.”

“GROUND RULES,” Minerva repeated slowly. She sounded skeptical, but curious. “LIKE WHAT, DUCK NEWTON?”

“Well,” Duck said, “first of all, you can’t show up while I’m the bathroom anymore.”

“WHAT? NEVER?”

“Never. Bathrooms are no-go zones.”

“‘NO-GO ZONES,’” Minerva repeated incredulously. “I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS. I AFFORD YOU PRIVACY IN YOUR MOST INTIMATE MOMENTS, DO I NOT?”

Duck felt a light blush dust his cheeks. “I...that isn’t the point! It's the principle of the thing! No more talkin’ to me while I brush my teeth, or comb my hair, or floss...Jesus, I hate it when you watch me floss.”

“UGH,” Minerva grumbled. “VERY WELL, DUCK NEWTON. BATHROOMS SHALL HENCEFORTH BE ‘NO-GO ZONES.’”

“Good,” Duck said. “Number two, and I can’t believe I have to say this, but...Lord, please do not try to show me any visions while I’m driving.”

Minerva huffed and threw her arms up. “THAT WAS JUST ONE TIME, DUCK NEWTON. AN UNFORTUNATE ERROR ON MY PART.”

“Yeah, well, I almost crashed into Darren O’Neil’s mailbox because of it, so forgive me if I need to hear you say the words, Minerva.”

“ALRIGHT. YOU ARE FORGIVEN.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“AND,” Minerva added quickly, “I SWEAR THAT I SHALL NOT INVOKE ANY VISIONS WHILE YOU ARE DRIVING, DUCK NEWTON. HAVING YOU DIE IN A MOTOR VEHICLE ACCIDENT WOULD CERTAINLY BE COUNTERPRODUCTIVE TO OUR GOALS.”

“Glad we agree on that,” Duck deadpanned. “Number three. You need to get rid of the sword.”

“OH, NO, DUCK NEWTON,” Minerva said, pointing a ghostly finger in his direction. “YOU MUST KEEP YOUR CHOSEN WEAPON. I SHALL NOT BUDGE ON THIS MATTER.”

“I ain't budging, either,” Duck said. “I can't stand that thing. Moving it to my basement was a nightmare. It took me three days to work up the nerve, and even now...God, just knowing it’s in my house makes my skin crawl.”

“IT IS THE INSTRUMENT OF YOUR DESTINY.”

“It. Has. A. _Mouth_.”

“AND YOU BELIEVE THIS TO BE MY FAULT, DO YOU? TELL ME, DUCK NEWTON, WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DESIGN OF YOUR CHOSEN WEAPON? HINT: IT IS YOU.”

“I didn't design that thing!”

“YOU DID, DUCK NEWTON. YOU PROJECTED YOUR SOUL ONTO THE UNIVERSE AS ALL LIVING THINGS DO, AND FATE HAS CRAFTED A WEAPON THAT IS IN TUNE WITH THE VERY CORE OF YOUR BEING—”

“Stop it,” Duck said. “Stop telling me that I made that thing with my…my ’soul.’ I didn’t ask anybody to make me a talking sword. And I didn’t ask you to bring me one, either.” Duck gritted his teeth, felt something knot up inside him. “Hell, Minerva—I didn’t ask for any of this. Do you understand? I never asked for this.”

Minerva stared at him. Duck stared right back, trying to hold his line, trying not to look as sick as he felt. After a moment, Minerva gingerly moved a few inches closer, as if she was trying not to startle a frightened animal.

“DO YOU THINK THAT _I_ ASKED FOR THIS, DUCK NEWTON?”

Duck felt his breath catch in his throat. “What?”

“DO YOU THINK THAT I ASKED TO SHEPHERD ONE WHO IS SO STUBBORN?” Minerva said. “DO YOU THINK THAT I ASKED TO SPEND MY DAYS GUIDING ONE WHO REFUSES TO BE GUIDED? OF COURSE NOT, DUCK NEWTON. IT IS DIFFICULT. FRANKLY, IT IS OFTEN MADDENING. YET HERE I AM.”

Duck let out a defensive breath. “Why? If this is so terrible for both of us, why are you even here?”

“BECAUSE FATE HAS WILLED IT, DUCK NEWTON, AND I HAVE PUT MY TRUST INTO FATE.”

Duck shut his eyes tightly. He felt a headache blooming in his temples, the knot inside him loosening. When he opened his eyes again, Minerva’s form was beginning to blur a little at the edges.

“Well...I haven't,” Duck sighed. “I don't believe in that kind of stuff, Minerva.”

“DON'T BELIEVE IN FATE?” Minerva said. “IT IS THE FORCE DRIVING YOUR EXISTENCE, DUCK NEWTON. IT IS THE ANIMUS OF YOUR DESTINY.”

“I don't want a destiny,” Duck said, so quiet he wasn't sure she heard. “I just…” He sighed and plopped his forehead on the table with an undignified noise. “I just want to eat my breakfast, Minerva.”

“OH...DUCK NEWTON.”

He turned his head to the right and peered out from under his eyelid; she had come back around to his side of the table and was trying to pat his shoulder with one of her ghostly, ephemeral hands.

“SHHH. THERE, THERE, DUCK NEWTON.”

Duck groaned. “Oh, my God.”

“I THINK I UNDERSTAND YOU BETTER NOW, DUCK NEWTON,” Minerva said, a few decibels quieter than Duck had ever heard her.

“You...you do?”

“YES. YOU HESITATE BECAUSE YOU DO NOT FULLY COMPREHEND THE BREADTH YOUR DESTINY.”

Duck sighed. The fight had seeped out of him, gone soggy and limp like the cornflakes. All he could feel now was the exhaustion in his bones.

“SADLY, I CANNOT REVEAL TO YOU THE FULL SCOPE OF WHAT FATE HAS IN STORE FOR YOU,” Minerva said. “THAT IS UNKNOWABLE, DUCK NEWTON. YOUR DESTINY IS NOT A THING THAT IS ETCHED IN STONE.”

Duck raised his head off the table a little. As she spoke, Minerva's light began to bleed into the air around her.

“IT IS NOT SOME LIST OF THINGS THAT SHALL COME TO PASS,” she continued. “IT IS SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT, DUCK NEWTON! IT IS A PURPOSE WRITTEN INTO EVERY FIBER OF YOUR BEING. IT IS A COMPASS GUIDING YOU TOWARDS YOUR TRUE NORTH.”

Duck watched as the last wisps of her form began to flicker before his eye.

“IT IS A LONG AND WINDING ROAD, REPLETE WITH TWISTS AND FORKS, STRETCHING TOWARDS THE HORIZON OF FATE ITSELF. DO YOU UNDERSTAND, DUCK NEWTON?”

“No."

“EXCELLENT! I AM GLAD I COULD CLEAR THINGS UP FOR YOU.”

“Wait,” Duck said, “I don't understand, Minerva. Why—”

“SEE YOU NEXT WEEK, DUCK NEWTON!”

And with that, she was gone.

Duck sighed into the empty air.

“...me. Why me.”

He had to admit this much: Minerva certainly had a well-developed flair for the dramatic.

 _Minerva_. He'd given her a name.

She'd given _herself_ a name.

Duck groaned quietly as he planted his forehead on the table once more.

He was absolutely screwed.


End file.
